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This past January Frank and I were out mid morning five blocks from
home. There was a light rain and wind and the temperature was right around freezing.
I feel the same way about this type of weather as a horse does.
Give me the barn.
Frank doesn't seem to mind it much and prefers it over 75 degrees and bright sun. So we are out.
I am not especially happy and light hearted. My glasses are blurred with mist which compounds my balance issues with the goutish big toe,
arthritic hip and the sidewalks are sneaky dangerous. It's wet everywhere for sure, but there are random places of invisible icy spots.
My neighborhood is not exactly flat walking either. The sidewalks are often 4-5 inches higher on one side than the other and I've
learned to switch up which side of the street we walk so my legs can even out.
We are generally out for 90 minutes to a couple hours twice a day, but 45
minutes of this hypothermic crap has me about done. I just want to get in.
I'm wishing we didn't walk this long. I'm wishing I had a better rain shell.
I'm wishing I didn't have to pee. I'm not liking the present moment. I'm
not anywhere near the present. I'm at least one time zone from the present
moment.
10 more minutes and we'll be in. Towels for my dog and me. Dry clothes. Hot lunch.
We get to an intersection where we almost always go straight ahead because
if we turn right we likely encounter Nala, who's usually tied up to tree in her front yard mostly unsupervised and prone to charging.
She's not out today and in a moment I decide to turn right and go past and let Frank sniff this rarely sniffed block.
We pass by Nala's unoccupied ambush place and near the top of the block Frank alerts.
I can't see what's got his attention, but it's something on the otherside of the street.
We move forward a bit more and then I hear it faintly.
"Help."
A woman has fallen off her front porch steps. She's down, but sitting up on the lowest step.
We cross over and find her very alert, unable to move her left leg, but not
experiencing much if any pain. She can move everything else fine, but the not leg.
The next 40 minutes are a jumble. She's 80 years plus and barking orders at me... " You gotta find Yoda! Yoda's run off! Let me hold your dog. Go find Yoda!"
She can't hold Frank, so I use the carabiner on my key chain to clip his leash
around a tree and go around back and find tiny Yoda and put her in the house.
The woman definitely wanted her dog out of the rain first.
The woman relaxes a little now and is cooperating. She doesn't appear to have any spine or head injuries and
I make the decison to lift her from under her armpits and carry her backwards up a couple steps and into her house.
Everything will be easier and warmer and dryer inside.
Inside, she insists I call her daughter ( living a few minutes away) before I call 911. She's misplaced her cell phone, but directs me to a rotary dial phone on the wall in the kitchen.
Calls are made and her son in law arrives before the paramedics.
I attempt to tell him what happened, but he's immediately on his phone
with his wife... he's more pissed off than anything. I guess he was having an
"I told you this would happen" moment.
The paramedics arrived and while they did their stuff I found some paper and wrote down my contact info.
I remember thinking the family might want to sue me because I moved the woman. Funny that thought.
Fortunately, that hasn't happened.
Frank and I left with the paramedics. He was pretty wet by then, but we were just a few minutes from home and dry towels, a hot lunch and a nap.
home. There was a light rain and wind and the temperature was right around freezing.
I feel the same way about this type of weather as a horse does.
Give me the barn.
Frank doesn't seem to mind it much and prefers it over 75 degrees and bright sun. So we are out.
I am not especially happy and light hearted. My glasses are blurred with mist which compounds my balance issues with the goutish big toe,
arthritic hip and the sidewalks are sneaky dangerous. It's wet everywhere for sure, but there are random places of invisible icy spots.
My neighborhood is not exactly flat walking either. The sidewalks are often 4-5 inches higher on one side than the other and I've
learned to switch up which side of the street we walk so my legs can even out.
We are generally out for 90 minutes to a couple hours twice a day, but 45
minutes of this hypothermic crap has me about done. I just want to get in.
I'm wishing we didn't walk this long. I'm wishing I had a better rain shell.
I'm wishing I didn't have to pee. I'm not liking the present moment. I'm
not anywhere near the present. I'm at least one time zone from the present
moment.
10 more minutes and we'll be in. Towels for my dog and me. Dry clothes. Hot lunch.
We get to an intersection where we almost always go straight ahead because
if we turn right we likely encounter Nala, who's usually tied up to tree in her front yard mostly unsupervised and prone to charging.
She's not out today and in a moment I decide to turn right and go past and let Frank sniff this rarely sniffed block.
We pass by Nala's unoccupied ambush place and near the top of the block Frank alerts.
I can't see what's got his attention, but it's something on the otherside of the street.
We move forward a bit more and then I hear it faintly.
"Help."
A woman has fallen off her front porch steps. She's down, but sitting up on the lowest step.
We cross over and find her very alert, unable to move her left leg, but not
experiencing much if any pain. She can move everything else fine, but the not leg.
The next 40 minutes are a jumble. She's 80 years plus and barking orders at me... " You gotta find Yoda! Yoda's run off! Let me hold your dog. Go find Yoda!"
She can't hold Frank, so I use the carabiner on my key chain to clip his leash
around a tree and go around back and find tiny Yoda and put her in the house.
The woman definitely wanted her dog out of the rain first.
The woman relaxes a little now and is cooperating. She doesn't appear to have any spine or head injuries and
I make the decison to lift her from under her armpits and carry her backwards up a couple steps and into her house.
Everything will be easier and warmer and dryer inside.
Inside, she insists I call her daughter ( living a few minutes away) before I call 911. She's misplaced her cell phone, but directs me to a rotary dial phone on the wall in the kitchen.
Calls are made and her son in law arrives before the paramedics.
I attempt to tell him what happened, but he's immediately on his phone
with his wife... he's more pissed off than anything. I guess he was having an
"I told you this would happen" moment.
The paramedics arrived and while they did their stuff I found some paper and wrote down my contact info.
I remember thinking the family might want to sue me because I moved the woman. Funny that thought.
Fortunately, that hasn't happened.
Frank and I left with the paramedics. He was pretty wet by then, but we were just a few minutes from home and dry towels, a hot lunch and a nap.
